The Blackreach Edda
by Interfuge
Summary: An Epic describing the events of Blackreach's discovery. Old Norse eddic form, with some adjustments. If you're looking for Beowulf-styled poetry, this is the FF for you.
1. Orphan Lord Wulfheart

AN: This poem is styled in a derivative of the Eddic formula, just like the great epic Beowulf. I originally planned it to be a Lore piece for my Blackreach Chronicles series, but they have taken a long pause. I'm currently directing my focus to this.

Notice: For ease of memorization and emphasis, important verses rhyme, but eddic is primarily forged with alliterative verse. If you keep reading, you'll find the pattern.

I Hope you all enjoy it! Please read and review; constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

* * *

The Blackreach Edda

"_Into the Deep_"

The_ deep dwelt forgotten  
Of dwarves and their hammers_

_But clankings and clickings,  
So clever, remained_

_And wrought in their wreaking  
Of wrathful constructions,_

_Ferociously fearsome,  
The Falmer now reigned_

* * *

_Chittered they so chillingly,  
In Chitin of Chaurus_

_As blinded and blemished  
As bleached in the skin_

_Betrayed in the bastions,  
As beasts, now had wandered_

_These goblins, these gremlins,  
Are graceful no more_

* * *

_In a most freezing Frostfall,  
Frontier of the Pale,_

_A cluster of clansmen  
Had cleared through caves cloven_

_Once banished, abandoned  
But bound to be tread_

_Where cauldrons and coffins,  
Gold coins by the dozen,_

_Had hailed through the hallows,  
'The Halls of the Dead'_

* * *

_The droppings of Draugr  
Had drawn yet the soldiers_

_Whose opals, opalescent,  
Unopened to Fate_

_And swords known for swaying,  
For swinging, had bitten_

_Had pierced through the peaceful,_  
_Now purged through their ends_

* * *

_Yet fires had followed  
Through the flames of their hearts_

_And blown through their blades,  
Unblemished of fear_

_Like tempest their tempers  
Of tumult ne'er bred_

_Had bloodied their blades,  
Then, and blazed through 'the Dead"!_

* * *

_The monsters, out-mettled,  
Had met their last ends_

_Their chambers once cherished  
Now churlish towards life_

_Now hollow lay the halls  
No horrors left waiting_

_Spare the posts of Nord puzzles,  
Imperiled most preciously,_

_And the most weaned of warrior's-  
Named Wulfheart- bone plating_

* * *

_So ornery an orc  
Stood "Orphan Lord" Wulfheart  
The slayer of fathers and mothers alike_

_For troubled with treason,  
and trained by Nord parents  
Forgotten by family left fending in dikes_

_This churlish of churls,  
A child by war,  
Of War, and of warriors he'd wager his life_

_A legion of leaders  
Had lust for his fury  
His ferocity, the fortunes it brought through his strife_

* * *

_The trinkets of troll bones,  
Entrenched through his steel,_

_Let known to his knights how  
They needed his power _

_The doors then dawned open,  
And daring of men,_

_The Orphan Lord ordered  
The Oracle to-hour:_

_"Listen now, brave Wulfheart, brave leader of brazen,  
Within these dark walls, you shan't hark your haven  
Ol Mora has mentioned these moors in my sleep:  
'Don't enter nor encroach an inch of the Deep'. "_


	2. Iorlund's Lament

AN: This one took a long time to put out due to time constraints. I'm sorry it took so long to get it to you. In the case your discerning eyes do not notice by the end of the chapter, I've been constructing this poem so far in a cyclical form with minor variations from chapter to chapter. These deviations are indeed deliberate, so feel free to debate on their significance and necessity in the reviews.

I hope you all enjoy it! Please read and review; constructive criticism is like Writing Fuel for my brain!

* * *

_For now his knights weary  
And wielded by fear_

_The leader then loitered  
__And listened to Fate_

_But plans made, he pleasured,  
He plotted to pilfer_

_Such mystery of ministry_  
_Had milked out his hate_

* * *

_He went then so wearily_  
_In want of temptation,_

_The thirst of his theories,_  
_To Thirsk, he'd make way_

_Greeted by Greyhounds_  
_As great as wolves local_

_As fierce were they fast,_  
_And as fearsome and sound_

* * *

_So bare was their barking,  
They bay through the night_

_As the mere scent of Meadhalls_  
_Filled meetings contrite_

_The Solstice, in Solstheim,  
Had no solace dear_

_It snowed as if sneering,  
Men snipped with wind-sheer_

_And rigorous, yes, righteous,  
This Meadhall was reared.  
_

_With records of Reiklings  
__Reamed up on Huntspears_

* * *

_The scent of sweet honey  
Now swam through cold nostrils,_

_A noise like of nourishment,_  
_Those songs sung renown_

_Cherishing and cheering,_  
_In revelry like children,_

_These soldiers of sold-furs  
Grew soft through oft yet._

* * *

_Though banished his banter,_  
_A bane to his efforts,_

_This merciless mercenary  
__Sat calm through the mirth  
__  
Irked and irate  
__Arose Iorlund the Ice-Axe  
__  
His words were of worry  
__They went about as such:_

* * *

_"Shunned, though, from sharing  
__My words still ring true  
__To laugh and grow fat is no warrior's true oath_

_For we've lost our bearings,  
With naught but to do  
But fight or rest happy, no one can do both _

_Forget, Steeds, my standing  
Among our ranks, Run!  
Speed fast with feet sparing, in death we drive droves,_

_The day we stop meandering,  
__We end up no-where  
__As No-body, ignoble, although our lives strove_

_As Like eagles, like sigils!_  
_In rights or illegal_  
_Spare spite-spiraling Evil,_  
_We're ne'er to fight feeble!"_

* * *

_His insight succinct,_  
_Sufficient to claim,  
__  
To the once-scolding scoundrels,  
__How scarce stood their flames_

_So Knights were ignited,  
__Straight-kneed though the halls,_

_To the Orphan Lord Orc,  
Struck ore did their calls!_

_"Hear us, Brave Wulfheart, Brave Leader and Brother,  
__The warmth of this Meadhall and milk-drinking smothers!  
__We've dared once to daunt down so near to Death's sleep  
__Let part and be pardoned to pry through the Deep!"_


	3. Fires in the Cold

AN: 3RD CYCLE, RULES BROKEN.

As this poem works in threes, every 3rd cycle, or chapter, will deviate a little from the rules, simply to refresh one's lyrical pallet before a certain climax. Here you'll notice, in the beginning stanzas, the 3 and/or 4th lines can deviate from the typical alliterative pattern. Other than that, I must say thank you for reading so far into this poem! I do hope you're surely interested in the events that unfold... I have a lot planned.

I hope you all enjoy it! Please read and review; it does my heart justice and spurns my own 'flames'!

* * *

_Crossing un-craven_  
_Through creeks past Rock-Raven_

_They shipped to shores sheering_  
_Port Windhelm, shroud white,_

_To blacksmiths they bleeded_  
_For Septims they needed_

_Plethoras then pleaded,_  
_They plowed through the night_

* * *

_Armed with an Armored_  
_Plate, steel-clad to arse_

_For Orphan Lord Wulfhart_  
_Took none as to farce_

_And each marched through Eastmarch_  
_As sharp as their swords_

_No sorrows to share, then;_  
_Too eager their Lord._

* * *

_Alas and ne'er sneezing_  
_They sneered through the clearing_

_The billowing billions,_  
_Best feared by trend,_

_Barrowing, harrowing apoc'lyptic winds_

_An instance, the Cold took_  
_The cores of the men_

* * *

_So bleary their blisters,_  
_Their steel chilled their blood_

_They trekked through the trenches_  
_And treacherous clot-mud_

_Still walking, still waking_  
_Their wounds would weal yet._

_So freezing, so frozen_  
_Their veins in blue debt_

* * *

_Their injured endurance_  
_Then ended their march!_

_And stood they left standing_  
_In stances so harsh_

_No fires yet followed;_  
_They faltered on feet_

_Now black-blue with frostbite_  
_Oblit'rating all heat_

* * *

_Then Iorlund, Great Ice-Axe,_  
_Inquisition'd their Fires,_  
_His voice like a lyre,_  
_Had driven, inspired:_

_"Hear me, brave soldiers, brave stallions renown,_  
_Shall we die standing, die passed without sound?_  
_No longer we sit so that ne'er we may stay_  
_But now we must gallop, survive the pathways;_

_No colt of fine breed would die stooped in his tracks,_  
_Remind yourselves, Fire! It's what your souls lack!_  
_If the warmth of our hearts shall extinguish unrivaled,_  
_Our strength may be preached of in sonnets and bibles!"_

* * *

_His words gave them worse_  
_Of a reason than fame,_

_To the now-fearless fiefdom_  
_That feasts on its Flames!_

_Bellators then bellowed,_  
_Skins bare to the wind!_

_And so then the Cold_  
_Could not conquer their ends!_

_"Harken, Sir Iorlund, sweet Second of Wulfhart,_  
_You've hacked through your status with will forged in word-art_  
_Once banished, abandoned by us so were you,_  
_But join you we now do; we owe you this, true._

_So more your speech speckles our hearts with hot blood_

_And now dare we daunt through white snow or clot mud_  
_The Halls are in sight, no path we yield other_  
_Than that of your words that you speak now, Shield-Brother!"_


	4. The Reawakening

AN: Thank you all for waiting so long! It really took me long putting this verse out, I nearly forgot all about it! If you're still reading this, thank you very much. I hope its going along well for you. I'll take any suggestions you have if you comment or PM me.

I hope you all enjoy it! Please read and review so that I can bring each chapter to life!

* * *

_Doth bleed did those demons,  
__Defenseless, left dented,_

_Blood blacker than the hue_  
_Of their skin, blistered blue,_

_Slain and let lain  
__Lay the corpses lackluster_

_Awaiting the warriors with_  
_Weary woe mustered._

* * *

_The road was yet reached,  
__Its rear left unlooked,_

_The fog of their breaths breached_  
_Through, breaking with doors_

_Clad with cobwebs of capers,  
__Encamped at the hinges_

_Then stranded by strangers,_  
_Left adrift as white strings._

* * *

_The demons, the Draugr,  
__Twice dead, now had driven_

_Out Death and denounced_  
_These adventures, uprisen_

_Once more from the meager_  
_Trance made known as "death"_

_Wielding their weapons,_  
_Each worn through and riven,_

_Their souls shed no sorrow_  
_At the fog-sound of breaths_

* * *

_First through the fir trees, _  
_And first through the cave_

_Ran the Orphan Lord, roaring,  
__His rage gone berserk  
_

_And fires had followed!_  
_The fur-clad steel troopers_

_Had swept through with swords,_  
_Bloodied oaths to be sworn._

* * *

_The monsters, out-mettled, _  
_Had met their last ends_

_Their barrows, still buried,_  
_Now barren and bare_

_Whizzed through the hall_  
_Spelled witchcraft and wizardry_

_A 'Mancer of Mannequins,_  
_Who middled in death_

* * *

_A Dunmer from Dune,_  
_In the deserts of Elsweyr_

_An elf of an ilk  
__Too rigid for elsewhere_

_Known through the narrows 6_  
_As keen in death's knowledge_

_In Robes of Raven-_  
_Black, robbed from his peers_

_A commander of corpses_  
_From a most corrupt college_

* * *

_So wise a wizard  
__Sat Azarik the Ash-Blood  
__The preacher of souls, death, and life all entwined_

_Draining the Draugr_  
_Of their peacesleep in the mud_  
_He rose them once more to fight all unaligned_

_This foolish of foolhardy,_  
_Trapped in the cave,_  
_Had waited for subjects of a younger sum,_

_For perhaps bands of bandits  
__Could be turned and tamed;  
__Destruction spells ready at mind and at thumb_

* * *

_The icespells shot idled_  
_Straight through ancient aisles_

_The men had made nothing_  
_Of frostbite that maim't_

_For their fires, then stronger_  
_Than mere fiddling icespells,_

_They sought out the sorcerer_  
_Outsourced by their strength_

_There then they slayed him with blades and fierce brazen_  
_And Orphan Lord Wulfheart did not hope for haven_  
_As pulsing and pulling his craving for entrance,_  
_The raising and ruling of Death just an instance_


End file.
